


Claddagh

by BlueCircle



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (mostly), Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor and Markus read Chuck Tingle, Dad Hank, Declarations Of Love, Enthusiastic Consent, I ain't even kidding, Kissing, M/M, Markus is FUCKING INTENSE, Non-Linear Narrative, Porn with Feelings, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Reference Jokes, Romance, Switching, Top Drop, Top Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Turn back, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Wire Play, You Have Been Warned, kinky sugar, no beta we die like men, pouring some sugar on you all, rk1k - Freeform, robo-pervs, seriously pervy, some sappy shit up in here, you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:58:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCircle/pseuds/BlueCircle
Summary: North had told him once that he had a power differential hangup. North was correct. Markus had since corralled that animal, and handed its leash to the only person who could handle it.Or: Connor and Markus Resist The Void together.





	Claddagh

**Author's Note:**

> “With these hands I give you my heart and crown it with my love” or:
> 
> “My shirt comes off first, revealing my impeccable physique, followed by my shoes, pants and underwear. The next thing I know I’m standing completely nude before this handsome gay machine, exposed and ready for anything.”  
> \--Chuck Tingle
> 
> (I'm making it out to be lighthearted and funny but it's kind of not, seriously, it's weird, kinky, and thinky.)

**MARKUS**

 

Five hundred and fifty five days ago, on November 12th just after midnight, Connor had brought Markus an army. One hundred and eighty nine days later, on May 20th, 2039, they had sat in the strategy room together early in the morning. Markus had powered down (he'd begun thinking of it as “sleep,” sometimes,) the previous day, but Connor hadn't. The nurse that was still coded into Markus's entire makeup had scrutinized him. His thirium had been low, the color of his synthetic skin fading, and Markus had said, “Let's go for a walk,” and that was how it had begun.

They'd walked to a park; the day had been hot. Connor had never seen Spring before, and he'd stopped to look at the flowers, perplexed. “They have a smell,” he'd said. “I knew theoretically they would have one, but I've never smelled them. I can identify them by the molecules on my tongue.”

Sometime during their walk, their hands had brushed, and then naturally folded together. On a park bench at noon, Connor had turned to Markus and had said, “I think I might be infatuated with you, but I have no frame of reference. I hope this won't interfere with our work as I deal with this issue.”

And Markus had said, “Do you mind if I kiss you?” and Connor had said, “I won't mind at all.”

Markus had spent the last three hundred and sixty five days convincing Connor, in all manners possible and at his disposal, that—in the words of a great early 21st century author and philosopher—Love Is Real. Connor was still... learning about his way. Markus was a patient man.

“I love everything you are,” Markus would whisper in Connor's ear, when they were having sex face to face and Markus would begin to feel that old, useless guilt rising in Connor's mind. _You owe me nothing,_ Markus would try to convince him, to convey without words. 

“But why? Why did you choose me?” Connor had asked him, forty-two days after he'd taken a bullet for Markus during a rally. 

An assassination attempt, that had been, and Connor had shoved him aside and tried to catch the bullet in his hand. Then he'd run, minus one functioning hand, caught the shooter (an aspiring politician, no less,) cuffed him, arrested him, gotten his hand replaced. And later confessed, shaking all over like a human, that the idea of losing Markus had made him feel terrified. That his anger had nearly made him kill the shooter; that he'd had to stop himself from bashing the man's skull open on the ground.

“Why me?” Connor had the nerve to ask him, forty-two days after that incident.

He wasn't fishing for praise; Connor was too open with him for that. Markus had seen him run his negotiator program in real, high stress situations, talking down humans and other androids who'd reached their limit in the wake of the revolution. He'd even shown Markus how to talk to people to get what he wanted – invaluable when it came to appealing for android rights. Six months ago, Markus had negotiated for the right of androids to travel freely, anywhere that humans could travel, with the same exact restrictions – no more and no less. 

But never once had Connor run his negotiation program on Markus.

“Because you're brave, loyal, sincere, and really funny,” Markus had told him. “Because you're more than they made you to be. You have empathy. Resist the void, Connor.” 

Connor always laughed at his jokes, too – a real laugh, not his programmed one. Markus loved him for that, too.

 

* * *

 

**CONNOR**

 

 

Sixteen days, three hours, and twenty minutes ago, Markus had put his life into Connor's hands.

Carl Manfred had passed nine months prior, and, while he couldn't legally leave his estate to an android (and probably did want to leave something to his son,) he'd added the stipulation in his will that Leo Manfred could keep the house for as long as he kept his sobriety, and that the android known as Markus RK200 was never to be barred from entering. Additionally, if Markus ever felt mistreated, he was to tell the lawyer.

Leo was hardly ever in the house with the time he spent in rehab, so the house mostly belonged to Markus anyway, including Markus's old bedroom that Carl had always insisted he “sleep” in, as well as the large bathtub, which, Markus had told Connor, he genuinely enjoyed. (“It's not like we don't get dirty,” Markus had told him. “Dirt still gets in our joints.” Mostly, he explained, he just thought it felt nice. Heat soothed him.) Since they'd been spending more time here, Markus smelled more like a human than an android. It was probably how he'd smelled before having to go on the run, being forced into a revolution. He'd spent his early existence in a home, with soaps, detergents, cleaners, and paints. Connor's nose was as sensitive as his tongue. He felt like a dog must feel sometimes, seeking out scents that he enjoyed, and Markus was his favorite.

Markus been built to comfort others; now he craved comfort for himself. He deserved it, Connor thought. After what he'd been through. After what he'd done for androids. Markus deserved peace and pleasure.

Connor had not been built for comfort or peace, and neither of them had been built for pleasure. They had the equipment—male genitals, the capacity to reach orgasm, however rudimentary, even a cluster of synthetic cells mimicking a prostate—but other androids had more advanced receptors, programs, subroutines for arousal, intercourse, completion, and it came more easily to them. Connor and Markus, both prototypes of the same model, had nothing of the sort, and therefore had to work for it a little more.

Connor had tried watching erotic movies and amateur porn, but mimicking those sounds and actions didn't make him feel good. Not bad, just not good. It didn't work for him. What did work, he'd found, was feeling intense emotions. That seemed to speed the process up. Once he'd explained this to Markus, and they'd started interfacing before, and sometimes during sex, they both found that the pleasure associated with the act became stunningly easy to achieve. 

Sixteen days, three hours, and twenty minutes ago, they'd sat in that bathtub filled with hot water, face to face, Markus in his lap with his legs locked around Connor's back as Connor moved inside of him. Their hands were joined and Markus never looked away from his eyes. That look that Markus got when it was like this: serious, like this mattered more than anything, like _Connor_ mattered more than anything. That's what made him move, and pant, and cry out like a human. 

Just as Connor was about to come, as he could feel it reaching down inside him, different from what humans had described but probably as intense... that was when Markus had clicked his own thirium pump regulator free, twisted it out, and put it into Connor's open hand.

Panic had nearly torn Connor out of the moment, but Markus just stared him down and closed his fist tight over Connor's hand, as if daring him to crush the biocomponent. 

“It's yours, Connor,” Markus had whispered. “Everything.”

Connor could not remember what words he'd managed to glitch out of his vocal modulator. He'd gone through his memories of that moment, but there were entire seconds that were just deleted, as if he'd gone completely offline or shut down momentarily, but he did remember that the orgasm that tore through him had left him sagging back against the tub with tears in his eyes. 

Naturally he'd clicked Markus's regulator back into place as soon as he could function again, and then Markus had leaned his head back with a keening cry, coming as Connor held him up, breathing frantic against his neck.

“Are you mad at me?” Markus had asked him, thirty three minutes later, after they'd dried off and gone downstairs.

“No,” Connor had told him. “I understand what you meant by it. A little warning though, next time.”

“Next time?” Markus had said, with his teasing laugh. “That good, huh?”

 

That had been sixteen days, three hours, and twenty three minutes ago. Three minutes Connor had just spent thinking about that moment, as he watched Markus stand by the table in the dining room, reading an article. So very few articles lately were not about Markus; he'd stopped reading most of them. This one—Connor had read it—was called “Androids: Reclaiming Our Sexuality.” It was about the various ways that androids could enjoy sex that had nothing to do with how humans had programmed them. Interfacing was a big part of it. Connor could have told them that.

“This is good,” Markus said, flipping through the article. (Markus liked to read slowly, like a human. Connor had tried it, when he wasn't at work, but scanning quickly was a hard habit to break.) “A lot of androids out there need to know these things, and it was written by an android. It'll help a lot of our people.”

Connor loved watching him pace as he read, the confidence and grace in his step, the easy way he carried himself with dignity. Markus had told him once, “A lot of humans call it arrogance,” and Connor had snorted, “Whatever.”

It was impossible to preconstruct or reconstruct hypotheticals, but Connor had once tried to imagine what might have happened if Markus had ever chosen to lead his revolution violently. He didn't like the probable outcomes. Markus was fast, he was strong, but mostly he was resourceful. He might have still won freedom for androids, but the cost would have been everything that Connor cared about. Markus, _this_ Markus, the one standing there in the dining room smiling at him, sex on his mind, apparent in the tilt of his mouth, the cant of his hips.

“I see,” Connor said. “So I'll just... head upstairs to the bedroom?”

Markus raised an eyebrow. “I'll be up in a minute. Be naked.”

* * *

 

**MARKUS**

 

 

Connor was, no way around it, physically stronger than Markus could ever be. Deviants could feel and respond to pain. Connor had been built to withstand pain – Markus made sure he knew what pleasure was. He was programmed to fight – Markus liked to see him surrender. There were some nights when Markus wanted to be the one surrendering. That brute strength, the way Connor could so easily throw him around, snap him like a twig if he wanted to, as he had been _programmed_ to do, as Markus had commanded him _not_ to do in a few short sentences...

North had told him once that he had a power differential hangup. North was correct. Markus had since corralled that animal, and handed its leash to Connor, with a full explanation of what he needed from him and what he was prepared to give him in return. ( _Everything._ An easy promise to make when you were inside someone's body and in their mind, but Markus made it a point to never say anything he didn't mean.)

Two hundred and forty days ago, when it became clear to most people who knew them closely that Connor was spending occasional nights at Carl Mandfred's house, Markus had finally met Hank Anderson. It was at the police station when he went to pick Connor up from work. Connor hadn't finished sending his report yet, and so Markus had sat down at at Hank's desk to wait for him. Hank had swung by and asked Markus to come to the breakroom with him while he got some coffee, and let Connor finish what he was doing.

Hank had said to him, “Listen, I'm not going to wave my dick around and tell you that if you hurt that kid, I'll hurt you, because we both know that's bullshit. You're adults, not to mention either of you could waste me. But really it's more because I think you're a good guy, at least from what Connor says. And anyway, people who love each other still hurt each other all the time – it's just as possible that Connor will hurt you someday, he's kind of a bastard sometimes. So I guess just... always talk to each other, is all I wanted to say. Thank you for coming to my Dad Talk.”

He'd made Markus laugh out loud when he said that, and Hank had just side-eyed him and said “Yeah, yeah.”

He'd also made him miss Carl terribly. When that had happened, Carl had only been gone for a hundred days. Markus wished for that back, that paternal love and care. Since then, he'd met Hank a few more times and they got along just fine, but it wasn't the same. 

Hank was right, though: talking was everything. Talking about their days, about what music they liked, books they'd read, politics, music, people they had met – everything. It kept them connected. Talking about intimacy was sometimes more intimate than the act itself. He'd had to look Connor in the eye and tell him the absolute truth; and he'd asked the same of Connor. 

He always had to resist the urge to praise Connor's physical strength. It was pointless, Connor had told him, to praise a thing he couldn't help. It had taken some time, and a lot of interfacing, but he'd made it clear to Connor that he liked sex a certain way, sometimes; a little rough, Connor's hand on the back of his neck, his weight holding him down, his nails scraping his skin white, teeth in his neck. That it was okay when he wanted it; that he wasn't asking to be damaged, he wasn't working out any of his painful memories or fears, and he definitely wasn't asking Connor to become genuinely violent with him. He just liked it; it was where his tastes went sometimes.

Other times, though. Times like tonight, May 20th, 2040, when nights started to stay warm. When there were flowers outside the window, ones that Connor stared at as he passed by on their way in, then came back to water in the evening. A rare night when Markus had slept and showered and not spoken to anyone all day, or been yelled at by humans, but Connor was running low, looking tired and lonely when he'd come home earlier that day--

Markus felt, keenly, like a blade between his panels sometimes, that he'd learned more about lust and covetousness than the humans could ever know since he'd been with Connor. The RK800, the deviant hunter was his, _his_. 

Humans had programmed sexual responses into androids, and had tried to control how they used those functions. The responses were human by design: androids moved like humans and produced similar fluids, they could moan, gasp, and pant; they had biocomponents that mimicked human sexual organs. When Markus really thought about it—when he got philosophical—they were really no more programmed than humans were. They'd spent millennia showing each other the “right” way to act during sex. Connor had never been taught that. Markus had been alive a little longer, had picked up on the humans' way of doing things. Though it wasn't as ingrained in him as in a human, he knew what to do.

And he particularly knew how to get Connor going. Nights like tonight, it was going to be easy. A lot of kissing, first. Connor liked to kiss for a long time, that tongue of his never quit giving him feedback. He liked to be petted and nuzzled and told how good he was. It felt a little unfair sometimes, how easy Connor was for him. 

Markus had sat down with Connor on the bed a few minutes ago, hands pressed together, showing him exactly what he wanted to do. Connor had sat across from him, naked, his eyes wide and lips parted. Markus was really good at eye contact (Carl had often teased him that he looked too stern sometimes,) and he held Connor's gaze the whole time. Shame was for humans.

“Yes,” Connor had said on an exhale that he didn't really need. “I trust you.”

Of course Connor was going to say exactly that, and of course he was right to assume that Markus knew how to not harm him. He was programmed to repair androids as well, if necessary. 

“I'm going to ask you again,” he warned.

“I'll say yes again,” Connor said, not without a tremor in his voice. “Yes to all.”

“No,” Markus said. “Yes to one thing at a time, or not at all.”

“Won't that be a little distracting?”

Markus kissed him, hands still linked, tongue against the back of Connor's teeth, hot and open. He liked the way Connor always seemed a little surprised by his passion, like it was new to him each time. Connor's other hand came up to rest behind his neck, scraping gently at the base of his skull, the small port, the divot between his vertebrae. 

“Why are you so intense?” Connor asked, when they separated. 

Markus shrugged, making an 'I don't know' noise. Connor's hand still absently stroked his neck. He looked calm, now – sated, even though all they'd done was kissed, so far. That look he got sometimes: a little smug, a little aloof, that long blink and side-glance, when he knew he was within reach of what he wanted; it made it hard to take his time. 

But with Connor, and especially with a thing like this, he needed to. 

Connor swept him into his arms – that's exactly what it was, a sweep, almost a take-down, he was still so martial in his movements sometimes. Pure physics knocked the air out of Markus as he landed on top of Connor. He did love it, being thrown around a little like that. Any other night he'd be a mess wanting that to go on. But tonight, he sprawled out on top of Connor, using his thighs to wedge Connor's apart, and rutted against him. He hadn't undressed yet – it wasn't intentional, he just hadn't gotten around to it, but this was good, too. 

Connor held him close with one hand on his back, but the other came up to Markus's face, and he used his thumb to smooth between his eyebrows. “So serious,” he said.

Markus laughed. “I'm just concentrating.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Am I--?” Yes. It hadn't even occurred to him. “A little, maybe.”

“I'm not,” Connor said. “It's not as if you're going to deactivate me. I like to think I'm pretty tough.”

Markus leaned down and spoke against his mouth. “I know you do.” He took Connor's wrist in his hand and pressed it back, over his head, against the mattress. 

“Yes, that's good,” Connor said, with a little upward jerk of his hips. “More kissing, just like this.” He put his other arm above his head.

Markus pressed against him, running his hands over Connor's arms, pinning his wrists, using his face to nudge Connor's head back against the pillow so he could get to that spot on his neck. There was nothing special there, no bundle of wires or synthetic nerves, nothing particularly vulnerable on an android to illicit the response that got. Androids weren't programmed to bare their throats or to protect them. If anything, the back of the neck was more of a trust spot, but still – this was something that Connor particularly loved. Markus kissed him there, pressed his nose into Connor's hair, licked into his gasping mouth.

His pants were getting uncomfortable. Connor easily broke his grip to reach down and tug on the waistband, slipping his fingers down into the material in his haste. 

“We should invent easier clothes,” Connor said. 

“Sweatpants already exist,” Markus reminded him. “I just don't like them. You can balance a pen on your fingertip but you can't get my pants down? How the mighty have fallen.”

“You're rubbing yourself on me, I can't think. You always disable my CPU. I love when we have time for this. I love you, Markus.”

“I love you,” Markus replied. He gave Connor a quick kiss, then got up to get out of his clothes.

“More touching, please,” Connor said.

“Always so polite.” Markus obliged him (Markus almost always obliged him,) by running hands all over him, from thighs to ribs, over his arms, back down, through his hair. Connor's body was a sweet upwards arch under his touch – lovely to his artist's eyes, but even lovelier was making him lose all his grace. He hadn't turned Connor deviant just once; he did it over, and over again, breaking through a new, hidden bit of his code every so often. Fair enough: Connor had found some of Markus's old programs, too, and gotten past those walls, as well. Deviancy was an ongoing process.

Markus pulled his right hand back, curiously, as a temperature reading popped up in his vision. The sensors on the backs of his fingers had started functioning. Connor was running hot.

“What?” Connor asked, a little groggy but also a little annoyed, a hint of demand in his voice.

“My nursing routines are booting up all of a sudden. I wonder why.”

Connor lifted one freckled shoulder. “I'm probably activating some kind of response in your core program. Maybe you feel a desire to take care of me. Does it worry you?” 

“No,” Markus said, mystified – because Connor was correct.

“Good. Then continue, if you don't mind. Take care of me. You're making me feel very good.”

Connor was utterly artless when it came to sex talk; as with everything else when his social subroutines weren't running at 100%, he was almost comically blunt. Markus loved that about him. He leaned down, dismissing the temperature readings, and kissed Connor as he pushed forward, into him.

* * * 

 

**CONNOR**

 

 

Markus never made fun of him when he didn't know what to say or how to act. Connor had never had sex with anyone else – neither had Markus, but he still knew more about it; had heard more humans talk about it, joke about it, talk about _him_. Before Carl passed—before Markus had become human and led a revolution—he'd been the subject of a lot of those 'I'd love a nurse that looked like that', 'if I stop breathing, would you give me mouth to mouth?', and 'I wish I could get sick and get an android like that to take care of me' jokes. He'd shared that with Connor, once. Markus hadn't liked that. He hadn't liked being talked about by humans, especially in front of Carl. It made him feel embarrassed. Carl had always told people to stop talking about him like that. (Connor occasionally wondered how much Carl knew from the beginning. He'd been friends with Kamski, after all.)

Which wasn't to say that they didn't laugh together, sometimes, over their awkwardness. The third time they'd had sex, here in Carl's house, Connor had been down on his knees, doing his best to complete his mission of making Markus... well, climax, he supposed, though that didn't sound sexy, but he wasn't very good at sounding sexy. So he had stopped to look up at Markus and ask, “What terms do you think we should use that might sound natural?”

“What?” Markus had asked him, dazed.

“Come, or climax; phallus, penis, or something more vulgar, like cock. Nothing sounds quite right when I say it.”

“Well, I...” Markus had chuckled at first. (How beautiful he'd looked to Connor, standing so tall above him, flushed and slightly gleaming the way only an android could look when aroused, or so Connor thought, at least. Humans had never looked like that in the erotic films he'd watched, but then again, maybe everyone paled in comparison to Markus.) Then Markus had outright laughed, and joined him in kneeling on the floor.

“I don't know, honestly. 'Penis' sounds too clinical; it makes me feel like a nurse again. 'Dick' sounds too much like a human insult. 'Phallus' sounds like something a history professor would say.”

“Yes, Josh gave a lecture once about phalluses in art history and how they applied to the evolution of androids. I read the transcript online; actually it was very interesting, because according to him...”

“Cock, then, I guess,” Markus had said, probably not wanting to hear about his friends while they were doing this. And then Markus had wrapped his hand around Connor's...'cock,' it still felt strange to think of it in that term. In any term at all. Sexuality took some getting used to. Markus's hands did not.

That had been two hundred and one days ago.

Now, Markus had his hands all over Connor, and the sensation was a strange one in that the pleasure felt diffuse. He could never quite understand how Markus could be putting his hand in Connor's hair, and yet he was feeling pleasure in his abdomen, or tingling up his spine, or clenching around his chest. It didn't make sense.

 _It didn't make sense._ Sometimes none of this did. Markus was touching him, Markus was kissing him, Markus was pressing forward, pushing into him, whispering into his ear that he was so sweet like this, that he was _perfect._ Which was wrong in so many ways that it gnawed at him, but he still liked to hear it. He'd had to stop himself from saying “thank you” when they'd first become intimate. _'You don't have to keep thanking me,_ ' Markus had told him. He'd explained to Connor that it wasn't flattery, it wasn't false, and it wasn't unwarranted – that he was just saying what he felt in the moment, and logically he knew that neither of them could ever be “perfect,” but that, in the moment, they were.

How had this even happened? He had been sent to kill Markus, he almost _had_ , he'd had no other primary function aside from murder. Hank had chipped away at him with his relentless, messy humanity, but Markus had completely unlocked what he insisted had been there all along. Connor still wasn't sure what that was. Markus could paint, he could sing and play piano not only proficiently but soulfully, he could cook, he could heal, he could lead, what _couldn't_ he do?

“No, no,” Markus said, slowing his movements and bracing up a little higher to look into his eyes. “We're not going down that road tonight. Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

“I need you to love me without hating what you used to be. Promise me.”

“I can't, not all the time.”

“Then just for now.”

Connor nodded. “Yes. Just for now.”

Markus pressed him against the soft bed, face against his shoulder, chest to chest, and put his back into it, slow but hard.

“You're--” Connor began, as Markus moved over him, inside of him. But he didn't know what to say. He never did; he couldn't come up with anything but the truth. He gripped Markus's forearms and retracted his skin, showing him instead.

_\--beautiful_  
I love when you're happy  
You scare me a little  
I never want this to end  
I'm yours-- 

“Mine,” Markus said into his ear; a growl that shot a thrill through his center and made him spread his legs wider, pull Markus in tighter, scratch up his back. He knew that got Markus worked up; it never failed. It was always easier to get what you wanted when you told the truth. 

“Look at me,” Connor said, nudging at his shoulder a little. 

Markus got up on his knees, which angled him _just so_ into that rudimentary cluster of wires inside him that had only been designed in case some human had ever wanted to make use of him. They weren't supposed to feel like much of anything, but god, when Markus touched them, with his cock or his fingers, they lit up every circuit. Connor had probably glitched out for a second, because Markus was smiling down at him, with that dirty little smirk of his.

“Yeah?” Markus said, finally folding his fingers around Connor's cock and giving an upwards stroke.

“Wait, wait,” Connor said. “Not yet. You wanted to-- let's do it. Don't make me come yet. Let's do what we talked about.”

“Okay,” Markus said, that little smile gone now, replaced with breathless wonder. “Okay, yeah, let's... Yeah.”

“Don't be nervous,” Connor said. 

“I...okay.”

Markus placed his hand flat against Connor's abdomen, and pressed firmly.

* * *

 

**MARKUS**

 

 

Connor was a marvel. For a second, Markus could only stare, awestruck, not so much because he was looking down into the inner workings of an android so advanced that the intricate wirings were almost unfamiliar to him, the wider veins and arteries bringing extra thirium to his processor and all of his joints... but that Connor allowed him to. Connor had allowed Markus to literally open him up, and see what was inside.

He raised his eyes to Connor's face, humbled, unsure now if this was the right thing to ask of him. But Connor just slow-blinked at him, confident.

_It's all right. I trust you._

Even more humbling. All Markus could do was bend forward and rest his head against Connor's chest, breathing hard like a human and trying to get his bearings. Connor's hands came up to the back of his head, holding him there, stroking, comforting. 

_We can stop if you need to. But I'm okay._

“I just need a minute,” Markus said out loud.

Exactly sixty seconds went by before Connor said, “All right, minute's up. You're still inside me, and I can't help noticing you're still aroused. Maybe move a little, so we can both get what we want? I just sent three emails while I was waiting for you.”

Markus jerked his head up, checking Connor's face to see if he was joking or not. He was so blunt, it was hard to tell. Connor had that calm little half-smile on his face, and Markus felt centered again.

Connor had talked him down. Well, shit.

“You're amazing,” Markus said. 

Connor shrugged again before giving an encouraging little twitch of his hips, and gripping Markus's forearms. “Show me.”

Markus kneeled up again and moved a little, watching Connor tip his head back against the pillow and let him take over again. He looked down – didn't know why he hadn't expected this – and could see himself moving inside Connor; the outline of his cock inside a passage of tissue that most androids had, but god, he could … see it, behind the wires, if he moved them aside--

He retracted the skin on his hands.

Gently — Connor jolted in surprise when Markus put his hand inside him, stroking delicate touches along Connor's slick insides, sliding his fingers down past the wiring, reverently — he could touch himself. Through Connor, he could touch himself. He was making noise, he realized, a kind of helpless “ah, ah” sound on every thrust forward.

He found, with the tip of his finger, the bundle of wires placed along the top, and he pressed down, trapping it between his own cock and his his finger.

He heard his name dragged out of Connor's mouth: too long on the vowels, too soft on the consonants, shaking, and glitching out with static. He looked up from what he was doing to see Connor's eyes fluttering, fingers spasming against the sheets, head back and mouth open. With his left hand he touched Connor's right, tentatively interfacing, checking in.

Ecstasy so profound it was almost pain, but--

 _Don't stop_ , Connor thought to him, more coherent in his thoughts than he could be verbally.

“Anything.” Markus kept dragging his thumb over that spot as he moved faster; he could hardly hold his head upright but he didn't dare look away from his hand inside of Connor, for fear of harming him. 

He had to still his hand, and brace on his free hand planted on the bed beside Connor's hip, when his climax broadsided him, tearing a cry out of him and nearly doubling him over. He might have shut down for a few seconds; his back was still spasming, thighs still twitching when he came back around and opened his eyes.

 _Please._ Connor's voice was a whisper in his head. 

Markus hadn't been programmed for post-orgasm hypersensitivity as some others had, it seemed; often it felt good to keep going, so he did. He kept moving, and resumed his gentle stroking of Connor's insides, watching his face, the fast fluttering of his eyelids, the pulse pounding in his neck, speeding up - 

_Mine,_ he thought again. Connor had free will, and he had chosen Markus for this. Connor's hands clenched at nothing, no sound came out of his mouth; his vocal modulator was probably offline; in fact there were no coherent thoughts for Markus to read.

Gingerly he lifted his free hand and shook out the tension before laying it on Connor's chest. He felt his thirium pump rocketing off his chest wall. Markus trailed his hand lower, to where his panel was still open, teasing his fingers along the edge before edging them upwards, under his sternum.

His fingers skimmed past Connor's regulator, further up, to his beating heart. Markus cradled it in his hand. Connor's legs stiffened, his back arched, one fist pounded the pillow beside his head. 

_It's all right,_ Markus said. _I've got you. Sweetheart. It's all right._

* * *

 

**CONNOR**

 

 

By his internal clock, twelve minutes and thirty nine seconds had passed before Connor woke up. A “soft reboot,” some might call it, but in human terms, he supposed he'd climaxed so hard that he'd blacked out. 

It wasn't that Markus had stimulated every erotic zone humans had given him. It wasn't necessarily even the intimacy of what he'd done; quite literally holding Connor's heart in his hand.

He thought it had more to do with those whispered words in his head. ' _Sweetheart_ ' in particular, maybe. 

“Markus,” he called, eyes a little bleary and voice still somewhat offline, though he wasn't sure why, since he hadn't done any damage to it.

Markus came walking back into the bedroom, wearing a black robe now, covering himself as if he had suddenly become shy.

No, not shy: ashamed. But why?

He held a pouch of thirium in his hand. When he handed it to Connor, he didn't meet his eyes. Connor scanned him; his stress level was 67%.

“Your stress level is sixty-nine,” Connor said.

“What? No, it's...” Markus huffed out a small laugh and looked down at the sheets. “You're hilarious.”

He was silent as Connor drank the thirium. 

“Thank you for proving love is real,” Connor tried. Markus tried to smile, but he looked too exhausted. Connor felt his old social programming trying to reboot, as he worked through what might be going on and how to handle it.

Markus shot him a concerned glance; Connor wasn't guarding his thoughts very well apparently.

“Or you could just tell me,” Connor said aloud.

“I'm--” Markus made a fist and pressed it into the bed. “Did I hurt you? I'm just worried.”

Connor went through a number of responses, ranging from lighthearted to sarcastic, and none of them seemed to fit. Instead he took Markus by the arm and threw him onto the bed with such force that he heard the air leave his lungs. Connor straddled his hips and leaned down so they were nose to nose.

“You couldn't hurt me if you tried,” he said.

Markus reached up and cupped his face in both hands. “I could, though. Because I'm afraid you would let me. You're stronger, yeah, but I guess I just need to know that you'll stop me if it's not good.”

“I promise I will,” Connor said. “I need you to trust me like I trust you.”

That seemed to cut right to the heart of it; Markus looked stricken for a moment. He did always tell Connor that he was very direct – sometimes too direct, maybe – but Connor didn't enjoy wasting his or anyone else's time.

“I do trust you,” Markus said. “I trust you with my life, but I guess I need to work on trusting... everyone, I guess, with their own.”

“You were a caretaker,” Connor said. “So it's only logical that you worry too much about others.” He rolled to his side and pulled Markus close to him. He liked to think he was getting good at figuring out what other people needed without running his social programs. Logic, or maybe intuition, or maybe just intimately knowing another person was starting to lead his decisions sometimes. Markus called it “emotional intelligence.” He'd been created with a program for it; Connor had not. Markus needed to see his confidence right now, he needed to be handled. And he needed normalcy; something to bring them both back to earth.

“I've been thinking about something recently,” Connor said. “Well, maybe a little longer than recently. But within the last month it's been taking up a bit more space in my mind.”

“And?”

“Now that you've secured our freedom to travel, have you ever considered taking a small break, and maybe going somewhere for a few days?”

Markus leaned up on his elbow. “A vacation?”

“Yes, I guess that's what it would be. I know your duties keep you busy, but maybe when there's time, someday. Just three days or so, away from everything.”

“Huh.” Markus tilted his head to the side. “I've never travelled.”

“I haven't, either. But I've been feeling this urge, especially since it's been getting warmer, that I would like to... to feel more of this world. The sun. I'd like to look at the ocean. I've seen photographs. I've downloaded videos, too, but now I think I'd like to actually look at it, and find out what it feels like.”

“Me too,” Markus said. 

“Could we do that together?” Connor asked. 

“I wouldn't dream of doing it without you,” Markus said. 

His stress level had gone down to forty-five and kept falling.

“That's what we'll do, then,” Connor said. “Tell me when you can, and I'll take some time off, and make arrangements. We'll go see the ocean.”

“We'll go see the ocean,” Markus replied, his voice sounding sleepy, like a human's. “We'll go see a mountain, we'll go spelunking in a cave, we'll go to the moon.”

“Not the void,” Connor joked.

Markus laughed against his shoulder, lightly petting down his side as he began to go into rest mode. “No,” he said. “Not the void. Resist the void. But anywhere you want. Anything you want. Everything.”

Markus was half asleep and talking nonsense – he could never give Connor everything; he had to split himself into pieces and give many of them to the real world, to his cause. To their people. That was all right. Connor was happy to hold his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> LOL get it? "Give you my heart?" Hahahaha somebody stop me.


End file.
